GTA: Vengeance Is Ours
by Sir Jason Gray
Summary: CJ just awoke from a coma and the world has moved on without him. The Feds want him to do their dirty work. Kendl is a Las Venturas stripper. Sweet just escaped from prison. Cesar is on a mission to reclaim his throne (and his woman), while Ryder fights rival gangs and crooked cops to keep his throne as king of Los Santos. There's a war brewing in Los Santos…and to get revenge.
1. Chapter 1: Por La Vida

**Author's Note: This story is a second part to ****_Things I Don't Tell My Friends_****, the first fanfic I ever wrote and first story on the GTA archive. I last updated the story in March, but after three months without updating for it, I felt it was at a perfect place to do a second part. Some of the readers didn't like the slash elements in the story's first half, and when I tried to edit those scenes from the story's remaining plot, it did not go well. The story basically diverged from the plot I conceived and it was impossible to continue. **

**So, for this story, there will be no elements of slash. It will pick up where ****_Things_****ended, so the characters have basically the same motives as of the end of that story. But there will be original missions and I'll provide details to cover the slash from that story. **

**For the geography of Las Venturas (in case you've seen a map), all the horizontal streets will be named after U.S. presidents and officials. And all the vertical streets will be named after precious metals and minerals. **

**Also, I decided to set the ages of the main characters, as a reference point for future events. CJ is 25 (born September 1****, ****1967); Kendl is 21 (born November 26, 1970); Sweet is 29 (born May 1, 1963); Cesar is 28 (born May 28, 1964); and Ryder is 25 (born July 31, 1967).**

**Anyway, review and follow. Keeps me motivated.**

* * *

**_Las Venturas, November 1992_**

**_Cesar Vialpando_**

From the window of his suite at the Emerald Isle Casino, Cesar Vialpando had a view overlooking the entire city of Las Venturas. Night had just fallen, embracing the city in a darkness like ink, but with myriad neon signs and phosphorus lights, the Las Venturas Strip glowed as brightly as a second sun. _'__Esta ciudad es tan Hermosa en la noche. The perfect place to find mi amor and remind her how deeply she loves me.'_

Cesar had checked into Emerald Isle only a few hours earlier after driving straight from San Fierro, had gone to sleep in his boxers and white tank, and woke up to find night had fallen. His ex-girlfriend, Kendl Johnson, had moved to Las Venturas and left her roommates (who were dead, but not by Cesar's hands) with a postcard inviting them to come visit her if they ever had the time. That was what led him to Las Venturas.

That, and his suspicions that whoever murdered Kendl's roommates, wanted to murder Kendl too.

Cesar turned from the window and started to dress: Gray Victim suit, gray Zip boots, and a gold Virgin of Guadalupe chain, with a gold watch. After he fastened the clasp on the watch, Cesar went to the mirror and examined his look. _'__Que guapo! Just what I need to cruise the strip tonight y encontrar a mi amor.' _

In the barrio of Los Santos, Kendl—and her notorious gangbanger brothers Sweet and Carl—were seen as intruders. They were African-American as far back as they could trace their heritage. Cesar, his brothers, and his barrio were all proud Chicano warriors, relegated to a smaller corner of the city that should rightfully have been theirs before the invasion of Columbus and European colonists hundreds of years earlier. In fact, Cesar was a prominent leader in his gang, Varrio Los Aztecas. They didn't tolerate any of the Black gangs—the Ballas and Grove Street Families—or the Russians, or even the Los Santos Vagos invading their neighborhood. Los Aztecas fought fiercely to keep their gang and their territory free of the influences of those gangs, dealing in crack, heroin, and any other potent drug.

Prostitutes were on the streets of Las Venturas as thick as flies on horse manure. Cesar saw them strolling the block in front of the hotel as he walked through the lobby to the parking garage, but he ignored them. But when he had climbed into his cherry red 1975 Fauchee Savanna, it was impossible to ignore the prostitutes, since one strolled right in front of Cesar's car.

"Puta desvergonzada, you need to move out the way!" Cesar called out to the hooker. _'__Nunca quise uno antes, y yo no quiero uno ahora__.' _ Kendl's brothers were no strangers to hookers, but Cesar knew about heterosexual gangbangers catching AIDS from women who sold themselves or from heroin needles. And Cesar had no time for that either.

The hooker glared at Cesar. She had the jet black hair, caramel brown skin, and the facial features of a Mexican woman. Judging from the heavy set of her hips, she probably had had one or more children old enough to go to elementary school. Cesar slammed his hand on his car horn, and the streetwalker sprinted down the street. He sped out of the garage and down the Strip to the nearest bar.

_'__I usted debe poner de su miseria,'_ Cesar thought. Still there was an ache in his heart, and it wasn't just for the prostituted woman or for her children. _'__Si Kendl esta hacienda esto, voy a matarla.'_

His first stop was the Happy Clam Bar on the strip, next to the Sticky Pages Adult XXX Store. The bar had low lighting, a seedy atmosphere, and it was packed with sweaty, smelly, drunk men. Even the bartender seemed disgruntled. _'__Kendl hates places like this, but I know mi mujer. She wouldn't want anyone to find her easily.'_

Cesar approached the grumpy-looking woman with long red hair. "Perdon, do you know if a woman named Kendl Johnson works here?"

"No."

Cesar pulled out his wallet. There was a 3x5 photo of Kendl inside the first fold. The Azteca warrior held it close enough to the bartender's face that it would be clearly visible, even in the bar's dim light. Cesar also placed a $100 bill on the counter. "Do you recognize her?"

The woman leaned closer and Cesar could see into the canyon of her cleavage. "Yeah, she works as a waitress at the Porker Steakhouse on Nixon Street.

_'__That's not far from the Emerald Isle. __Mi amor, usted no era mayor nivel de vida__.'_Cesar left the bar, climbed in his Savanna, and sped through oncoming traffic up the Strip to reach Nixon Street faster. _'__After only two weeks in Venturas, my baby's got a job at a classy joint like this one? Mi mujer es tan inteligente!' _Cesar made sure to straighten his suit before he crossed the parking lot into the red-and-white themed building. He didn't see her from the picture windows on the side of the restaurant, but Cesar pulled on the elaborate gold handles, which were carved to look like golden calves.

A female maître d' with copper colored hair smiled at Cesar as he entered. "Welcome to Porker Steakhouse. You're sure to leave quite satisfied. How many in your party, sir?"

"No, no, no voy a comer, I didn't come here to eat. I'm looking for someone."

"Sir, I'm not allowed to provide information for our guests."

"It's not a guest. It's probably an employee." Cesar took out his wallet and showed Kendl's picture. "Do you recognize her?"

"Sir, I said…."

A waitress approached the maître d' with a menu in hand, "Liz, a customer said…" She glanced at Cesar's wallet. Then she did a double take and glanced at Cesar. "Sir, how do you know her?"

"Patty, you're not allowed to discuss _anyone _in front of a customer!"

"Please," Cesar begged. He took out a $100 bill and placed it on the maître d's podium. "I'm trying to find her. She's as important to me as life."

"Sir, I'm afraid it goes against our policy to disseminate any information about any employee or customer. We can't share that sort of information."

He glanced at the waitress called Patty. Her eyes darted from Cesar to his money back to Cesar. The meaning was clear. Cesar slapped another $100 bill on the maître d's podium and placed a business card (which Kendl had made for him and CJ) on top of the bill. "If you know anything, please give me a call on that number."

Cesar tapped the card and walked to his Savanna. _'__Voy a buscar a todo el mundo, si tengo que. __Pero, por que ella no me quiere?' _He climbed in the car, backed out the parking space, and turned off Nixon Street to Emerald Way, en route to the hotel. Just as the parking garage came in sight, his cell phone rang. "Hola!"

"Hi, Mister Veelapando.

"Vialpando," Cesar corrected quickly.

"Right. This is Patty, one of the waitresses from Porker? I saw you were looking for Kendl. We were really good friends she worked at Porker. Still are, kind of." The girl on the other end giggled, and in eager anticipation, Cesar stopped the car outside his parking garage and listened to her on the other end. His heart raced with anxiety. "Anyway, she quit a few days ago because the manager wouldn't let her keep tips. She has a job at the Pink Muffin bar over by the Camel's Toe."

"Lo que en el infierno, where is that?"

"Straight down the Strip, make a left on Hoover Drive, and a right on Topaz Street. You can't miss it. Tell her Patty sent you. Bye!"

Cesar backed out the garage entrance and sped down Emerald Avenue until it merged with Diamond Boulevard, forming the Las Venturas Strip. He accelerated in and out of traffic like he was in a race. _'__Kendl, a strip club? No trabjaría allí, no way. She knows how to make money using her brain.'_

He was at the Pink Muffin before he realized it. The club was unmistakable: a two-story gleaming whitewashed building with a neon pink contribution to the Las Venturas skyline, which illustrated nude neon woman leaning back on her arms and raising her left leg to flash a pink muffin resting between her thighs. _'__That looks like the Pink Muffin alright!'_

There was self-parking and valet parking offered to the side and back of the club. Cesar drove to the very back of the club, down a steep slope, and parked at the back of the club. Exiting the car, Cesar made sure to grease the bouncer's beefy brown hands and to flash his I.D. before entering the club.

The Isley Brothers' "Between the Sheets" set the mood as a topless White woman in a black leather pants gyrated her hips and seductively air-rode an imaginary horse. No fewer than six security guards walked around the club wearing gray suits, intimidating scowls, and micro-SMG guns visibly strapped to their waists Two other attractive women—one White and one Black—worked poles in other corners of the club, while less attractive Black, Mexican, and White women strolled the club in tight white tee shirts, pink leather skirts, and pink leather knee-high boots to offer drinks and snacks to the male patrons.. _'__Kendl might not be one of these putas, pero I'm going to make sure.'_

Cesar sauntered up to the bartender, a White woman dressed like the girls offering drinks and snacks. "Hey, welcome to the Pink Muffin."

"Aye, I'm looking for someone." She glanced at the nearest security guard as Cesar pulled out his wallet and showed Kendl's picture to her. "Do you recognize her?"

"Kandy Kane? Yeah, she's our next act! Only been here two days, and already she's a favorite of our audience!"

She pointed at the stage. "Between the Sheets" ended, and the White stripper walked through the pink curtains at the back of the stage. "Gentlemen, the Pink Muffin is proud to present one of its tastiest treats: Kandy Kane!"

Color Me Badd's "I Wanna Sex You Up" began to play. The curtains parted, and Cesar's jaw dropped. It was Kendl as he had never seen her. She wore a candy striper nurse's uniform, white silk stockings, and white high heels. Her hair was in brown microbraids, which Kendl let down from a tight bun and swung free. She wound her body sinuously and ripped open the nurse's uniform. Her plump brown breasts sat proudly in a white lace bra with white lace panties to match. The audience cheered lustily. _'__Como iba a hacer esto?'_

Before Kendl could grind on the pole at the end of the stage, Cesar stormed across the club and hopped on the stage. He swept Kendl into his arms, but she was far from excited. "What the…Cesar?!"

"Yeah, it's me, baby."

The music had stopped. Customers were booing. "Get down from there, spic asshole!" one customer yelled.

"Hey, if he gets to touch her, I want a free lapdance!"

"What the fuck is going on?"

"Cesar, what are you doing here?"

Two security guards approached the stage. "Sir, put the girl down."

"What are you doing, Cesar? How did you get here?" Kendl repeated.

"Sir, put the girl down _now_," a security guard warned, aiming his gun at Cesar, "and step off the stage!"

_'__I estoy tomando mi mujer, hijoputa!'_Cesar yelled and shifted Kendl onto his right shoulder, like he was a fireman. As he reached for his silenced .9 mm, Cesar stepped backwards to distract the aim of the security guards. Cesar reached his gun before the first one could fire and squeezed off two bullets into the cranial cavities of the nearest two guards. The first dropped cleanly. In the throes of death, the second one fell backwards, squeezing off a round of bullets.

A cacophonous explosion ripped through the club. Kendl started screaming and kicking frantically. Customers bellowed and upset tables and chairs, running in panic. Other strippers and the waitresses started screaming and running. "Don't shoot the girl! Don't shoot the girl!" yelled a porcine White man in a pinstriped suit from one side of the club.

Cesar processed it all, even as he turned to a third security guard and shot the man three times in his left side. The falling guard squeezed off a round of bullets, tearing up the plywood stage. "Hijoputas!"

Cesar jumped off the stage, still carrying a terrified Kendl and two shots ricocheted off the gold stripper pole behind them. Cesar overturned a table, laid Kendl on the ground, and took cover. She curled into crouch in the small space they had.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Cesar?"

Cesar spotted the gunman immediately. It was the bartender. Three other gunmen were shooting at him using walls as cover from the other side of the club, and the fat White man had joined in the firefight with a Desert Eagle, which he boldly aimed from an unprotected spot. Cesar dropped the bartender with a bullet to the head. "Sólo debe mezclar bebidas!"

He reloaded the gun. "Lo que me pasa? Te pasa, Kendl?!" The security guards took advantage of the lull in Cesar's shots to approach closer. The Azteca warrior popped up and emptied the chamber: two shots into the nearest guard's chest; a round in between the second one's eyes; and to the third and last, a bullet to his shoulder and to his throat. "I came to Venturas looking for you, and I found you working in a motherfucking strip club!"

Cesar slipped his gun back into his waistband and pulled Kendl to her feet. The Pink Muffin reeked of blood, urine, and gunpowder. The last gunman, the fat man in the pinstriped suit, lay on the ground with an emptied gun and clutching his chest. "I can't breathe! I can't breathe!" he wheezed.

"Bien, now I don't have to waste the bullets on you," he said to the fat man. "Vamanos, Kendl, let's get out of here before the pigs show up." He ran with her, hand-in-hand to the front door of the club and to the parking lot. "You got some nerve talking to me like that, Kendl. No soy estúpido." He opened the car door for Kendl, shut it, and hopped over the door.

"Don't pull that angry Spanish bullshit on me, Cesar. I know what you said. And yeah, I'm working at a strip club. It's paying for my education."

Kendl indignantly folded her arms over her chest. It distracted Cesar to see her half-naked body so tangibly close, and he missed his turn on Nixon to the Strip. He drove past Treasury Lane to turn left on Reagan Avenue. "What kind of educación you getting, and you still have to take off la ropa for those horny businessmen, eh mami? I thought you were better than that!"

"Not just horny businessmen, Cesar. Las Venturas is still a mob town, and there are mob guys who come in and pay money just to see me take off my clothes. I ain't too good for that, when I'm trying to get somewhere better in life."

"De que estas hablando, mi amor? You're too beautiful for this ghetto mentality."

"No, I'm too smart for it." Cesar stopped at a right light on the strip. "Where you going?"

"I got a suite at the Emerald Isle we could share."

"I'm staying at the Clown's Pocket."

"You can stay with me."

"Not after all that bullshit you got into with Pitbull."

"Don't talk about him." At just the mention of his name, Cesar saw the beefy gangbanger's frightened face and heard the train squealing as it ran over his body back in San Fierro. Cesar didn't like what he had done, but it was necessary.

"Oh shit, don't tell me he was frontin', _just_ like I warned you _and_ CJ? I told both of you that motherfucker wasn't right the minute he rolled in from Los Santos. Talkin' about how he was down for the hood. That nigga wasn't about shit."

"Bien, tu tenías razón. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

The light turned green. Kendl sighed heavily. "You put him before me, Cesar. You were all about gangbanging and making your way back to Los Santos."

"So was CJ."

"I'm not dating my brother. I'm supposed to be your woman."

Cesar steered the car into the long, hedge-lined driveway of the Clown's Pocket. "Lo siento, mi amor. I'm sorry. Perdóname."

He parked in front of the elaborate gold doors inlaid with perfectly cut glass. Cesar glanced into the lobby; for a Saturday night in Las Venturas, the casino looked almost empty. There was no denying how beautiful the building was. Kendl sighed and captured his attention.

"Cesar, te amo a tí, para siempre, por la vida. I would stand by you through anything, you know that, baby. But you treated me like shit back in San Fierro. You had me living with those girls, Michelle and Katie, while you and CJ and Pitbull did all that shit to get back to Los Santos. You stopped treating me like your woman, and started treating me like a piece of shit. I don't know if I can or should trust you right now."

Kendl opened her car door, fastened up her dress, and walked into the casino. Cesar stared after her, but didn't pull off until the casino doors closed behind her.

* * *

**Author's Note: Because I don't speak Spanish (but I do speak, read, and write in French—it was a mistake, I know now, but I was trying to impress a girl), I used Google Translate for all Spanish phrases spoken or thought by Cesar. Here's a quick rundown of each one: **

**Esta ciudad…en la noche: This city is so beautiful at night.**

**Mi amor: my love**

**Que guapo: how handsome**

**Y encontrar mi amor: and find my love**

**Puta desvergonzada: shameless bitch**

**Nunca quise…uno ahora: Never had one before, and I don't want one now**

**I usted debe poner de su miseria: I should put you out of your misery**

**Si Kendl…a matarla: If Kendl is doing this, I will kill her**

**Mi amor…de vida: My love, you were not far away at all **

**Lo que en el infierno: What in the hell?**

**Como iba a hacer esto: How could she do this**

**I estoy tomando mi mujer, hijoputa: I am taking my woman, mf**

**Sólo debe mezclar bebidas: You should just mix drinks!**

**Lo que me pasa? ****Te pasa, Kendl: What's wrong with me? What's wrong with you, Kendl? **

**No soy estúpido: I'm not stupid.**

**Bien, ****tu tenías razón: Ok, you were right**

**Lo siento, mi amor…Perdóname: I'm sorry, my love…Forgive me.**

**Cesar,…por la vida: Cesar, I will love you always, for life.**


	2. Chapter 2: Bring 'Em Out

**Chapter 2: Bring 'Em Out**

**_Fulcrum State Prison, _**

**_18 miles north of Pimento, San Andreas; 285 miles northeast of Los Santos_**

**_Sweet Johnson_**

Sweet slammed the phone on the receiver and scowled at the sound of his hard-won change dropping. "Shit, where the fuck is this nigga?"

"Yo, you still ain't reached your brother yet?" Augustus asked.

Sweet's scowl focused on Augustus. The short, dark-skinned, muscled up gangbanger from Liberty City leaned against the sky blue brick wall of the Fulcrum State Prison dining hall. Augustus looked as casual as he possibly could in his orange cotton jumpsuit, but Sweet was aware of his cellmate's dark eyes roaming the prison's mess hall. If any of the Vagos, Ballas, or mafiosos who made up 80% of Fulcrum's population tried to come at Sweet, Augustus had his back.

Since their first day as cellmates, Augustus had watched out for Sweet. Augustus was a high-ranking member of a Liberty City Jamaican gang that had begun to stretch its fingers into San Andreas. Like Sweet, there weren't enough members of his own set to protect him inside the walls of Fulcrum. He had dropped the most obvious sign of his difference, his accent, long before arriving in prison. Thanks to Augustus' protection, Sweet had survived one attack in the prison's laundry already. He knew who to trust.

"Hell naw. That little bitch probably ran away again." Sweet shook his head. He was so angry, it made his head throb. "Just when I thought I could count on this little motherfucker."

"What you needed him for?"

"CJ was supposed to fix some shit on the outside for me." Sweet looked around and lowered his voice to a whisper. "You know, handle some _bidness_ on the outside."

"Personal or financial?" Augustus whispered back.

"A little bit of both: We got these niggas who used to rep the Grove, but they turned over for the pigs in Los Santos. And it wouldn't hurt to have a little paper in here. Problem now is, that motherfucker ain't answered his phone for three days now, and I still gotta check on the rest of the family."

"Maybe your little brother is dead, my nigga."

"Aye, don't say that bullshit to me, _ever _again!"

Augustus folded his arms. Sweet easily towered over the Jamaican gangsta, but Augustus showed no sign of backing down. "Look, I'm being as real as I can. Your brother might not be alive right now. He might have gone on to be with Jah, you know?"

"CJ might be a lot of things. But dead ain't one of them."

A buzzer sounded through the mess hall. "Damn, and that's the end of the lunch hour. I ain't even get to make my phone call."

"There's always tomorrow, nigga. Don't sweat it."

They moved to the main entrance of the mess hall. Two tall White guards armed with twelve-gauge pump action shotguns walked in and stood on either side of the double doors leading from the mess hall. "Let's go, you useless pieces of shit!" one of the guards barked to the prisoners.

Sweet walked away from the phone and joined the stream of prisoners filing in a single line from the mess hall. "You mean to tell me that with all your connections on the outside, none of those motherfuckers can handle this shit instead?"

"This sounds personal, just between you and your brother, a family situation. "

The Grove Street king wasn't listening. He studied the guards flanking the doors. They were both blond and tall, but the younger-looking one on Sweet's right looked more afraid than the grizzled one on Sweet's left. _'__This nigga's probably brand new on the job. Don't even know how to hold a motherfuckin' gun right yet.'_ As he passed the guards, he lunged at the one on his right and yelled, "Boo!"

It happened quickly: The guard flinched slightly but his grip on the gun slipped; he dropped the shotgun; Sweet caught it.

A more perfect opportunity never had existed in Sweet's lifetime. He turned the gun around and smashed its butt into the guard's face.

Chaos erupted in a moment. Prisoners broke their plodding pace and ran as the older guard raised his shotgun to shoot at Sweet. The guard's shot caught another prisoner in the side of the man's head, drenching Sweet's face and uniform in the non-culpable prisoner's blood. When the older guard winced, Sweet aimed his shotgun and blasted a crater from the guard's stomach. He glanced over his shoulder. "Aye, King! Get that motherfucker's gun!"

The mess hall emptied quickly. Sirens pealed throughout the prison. Augustus grabbed the gun as Sweet took up the guard's position beside the door. He spotted four guards running down the main hall of the prison, each armed with shotguns. With his peripheral vision, Sweet spotted three more guards approaching from the kitchen. Sweet crouched down and checked the dying guard's body for extra ammunition. _'__It's either us or these motherfuckers. They ain't about to let us go free, not after killing a guard.' _

Sweet loaded up shells into his shotgun. He took a quick deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment, listening to the sound of the guards' racing footsteps in the hall and their instructions to each other from the kitchen on his left. _'__It's either us or these motherfuckers.'_ Sweet's eyes snapped open. "King, get 'em on the left!"

He stood up. Augustus covered Sweet's vulnerable left side. Sweet loaded a round, started running into the hall, and dropped into a crouch as the first guard fired a bullet where Sweet's heart had been a millisecond earlier. Sweet's shot caught the prison guard in the stomach.

_'__Motherfucking racist pigs, all y'all motherfuckers deserve to die!' _He strafed to his right, confusing a second guard for a moment. That moment was all Sweet needed to shoot the second guard dead-center in the guard's chest. The second guard gushed blood from the wound and sagged to the ground. _'__Y'all beat down homies just because we black and y'all skin white as snow.' _Sweet pumped another shell into the chamber as the last two guards dropped into crouches because there was nowhere to take cover. _'__Y'all motherfuckers must be some real badassses to beat down an unarmed nigga with y'all's nightsticks and shit because he won't run drugs through his ass for y'all. I got somethin' for y'all. This shit is for my homies in the Grove.'_

Both remaining guards fired on Sweet. The prison guards aimed a lot differently than gangbangers in South Central or East Los Santos. Between the two of them, they had children and spouses; they had reasons to be cautious and live. Since he had been locked up, Sweet had no girlfriend, no wife, and no children on the outside. The prison guards shot chunks from the brick wall to Sweet's right and left. One round grazed the left side of Sweet's head so thoroughly it left a scorching trail through his low-cut hair. By contrast, Sweet aimed to kill and didn't care if it meant his death too. One round ripped through a guard's ribcage, liver, and right kidney. The final guard fell to the ground with a round that shattered his sternum and obliterated his heart.

"King, let's go!" Sweet yelled into the mess hall. Augustus sprinted into the corridor and caught up. The Grove Street don led the way to a T-shaped corridor and pointed with his gun to the left side of the hall. "Ok, if I'm right, we should be able to get out through this door on the right."

"Sweet, how long you been planning to break outta jail?"

"Planning? Nah, nigga, I ain't plan this shit! It just happened!"

More guards poured into the corridor and blocked Sweet's path of escape. They were armed with shotguns. Augustus and Sweet took shelter behind a corner. _'__There's gotta be thirty of these guards in my way. I've faced worse odds; I'm from South Central LS, motherfuckers.'_

"Shit, Sweet, there's no way in hell we're gonna get through these motherfuckers, even with a hundred rounds of ammo!"

"Don't let it stop you from tryin', nigga! These fishbelly motherfuckers done held us down too long in this prison!"

Augustus and Sweet turned into the hallway and went on a slaughtering spree. Using the incremental niches in the walls along the hall, they dodged the advancing line of fire while showering the guards with a furious volley of bullets. Sweet gunned down four guards. Augustus took down six with a hasty shots fired from his post behind the jutting out wall.

They stopped to reload. Sweet hurried to load his shells. "You good, King, or you need some extra?"

"I got it, my brother!"

"You dumbass jailbirds, give up now, or we'll be forced to annihilate you!" yelled one guard. Sweet heard him creeping down the hall. He turned and fired a round that caught the guard in the neck. The guard doubled over backwards and choked to death on his own blood. Another guard tried to flee the corridor. Sweet shot him in the upper right thigh. Blood gushed out and the guard collapsed, sobbing like a newborn child.

Augustus turned and started firing on the guards too. "Look at that, my brother! You almost caught up with me!" He shot three guards in their faces. "Well, not no more!"

"Stop talkin' trash, nigga, and figure out a way for us to get out this motherfuckin' mess!" Sweet yelled.

"I got an idea!" Augustus fired a warning shot then darted across the hall to Sweet's side. He leaned close enough to Sweet that he was like a second skin to the Grove Street don.

"Here's the plan: We goin' make our way out through this window. It's right on the exercise yard, brother!" Augustus shot out the glass window. When the window shattered, Augustus used the butt of his shotgun to batter the securely bolted iron grill until it caved in.

A guard sprinted around the corner. Sweet barely had time to shoot the guard in his head before diving out the ground floor window. Augustus leaped out after him, and the two Black gangbangers sprinted across the yard. Even though he was shorter, Augustus ran faster in a zigzag pattern across the yard. Sweet ran in a straight line. "What the fuck you runnin' like that for?" Sweet panted.

He heard the ping of a sniper's bullet striking the ground behind him. "Shit, the guards done spotted us!"

"Why you think I'm running like I'm crazy, brother?"

The air siren echoed through the yard. Sweet practically felt the snipers in the towers around the prison aiming at his head and firing. Another bullet impacted the ground to the right of Sweet's right foot. He immediately began running in a zigzag pattern with a broad sweep. "Any idea how we gonna get outta here?"

"Yeah, through the underground electric closet over there!" Augustus aimed his shotgun at the twin doors of the padlocked entrance, and fired even while running. The padlock snapped off. Augustus kept running, reached the doors, and yanked them open. Augustus tossed his shotgun to the side and dropped down into the hole with a yell. Three more sniper bullets dug into the dirt around him before Sweet dropped into the murky abyss, still cradling his gun.

He splashed into something watery, which broke his fall. The tunnel had only one source of light, and that came from the entrance Sweet and Augustus had used. But there was a bigger problem. "Shit, nigga, this electric closet stinks!"

"It's not really an electric closet. It's a sewer," Augustus corrected nonchalantly. From the sound of his voice, he had walked through the sewer to a point far ahead of Sweet. The Grove Street don struggled to keep up. On top of the smell, the further they got from the entrance, the darker and tighter the tunnel became.

"What the fuck? Why you ain't say it was the sewer, nigga?"

"Would you want to get in the sewer, my brother? Come on. We got to crawl at this point."

Sweet could feel the tunnel closing more tightly around him, and reluctantly crouched down into the mucky water. Something soft pressed against his hand. The smell was unavoidable. Sweet's stomach lurched into his throat, and even though he resisted the reflex, he retched violently into the sewer water. _'__What the fuck is this crazy Jamaican nigga thinking? I better not die in this tunnel, swimming in everybody's shit and my own fucking throw up.'_

They crawled and crawled for what seemed to be hours. Because the tunnel was so constricted, there was no room to talk. Sweet threw up again before he smelled much needed fresh air. Augustus disappeared just as the tunnel became lighter and wider. Sweet reached the end of the tunnel. He stuck his head out for his first taste of fresh air and gazed at his new surroundings.

Fulcrum State's sewer tunnel was embedded into a concrete wall in an even more elaborate sewer system. There wasn't much more space or light, but there was enough space inside the larger sewer tunnel for Sweet to crouch instead of crawl. Augustus stood only a few feet away, hunched over in even more muck. "Where the fuck we at, nigga?" Sweet asked.

"It's the Pimento County sewer system," Augustus explained. He started walking through the tunnel. Sweet crawled out and followed. "When San Andreas built Fulcrum State, those politicians decided to save money by connecting the prison sewer to Pimento County sewer. If we follow this tunnel all the way through, it'll take us to just outside Pimento."

"What the fuck for? So we can get arrested in some fuckin' piece of shit town?" Sweet gagged and held back another round of vomit.

"No, brother, you gonna see when we get there." Augustus' Jamaican Patois dialect was beginning to break through again.

"I just crawled through three miles of shit, piss, vomit, and other trash. Now you want me to walk my ass through three more miles of shit?" _'__And probably listen to your ass talk in all that Jamaican bullshit y'all talk in?' _

"We didn't walk through no three miles of sewer. That just crazy, brother. We walk through five hundred metres of it. Now we walk through three miles of sewer," Augustus nearly laughed.

"Augustus, you fuckin' crazy nigga, you betta stop right now because I ain't walkin' my Black ass through three miles of this garbage."

"Look, brother, maybe you don't want your freedom like I want my freedom."

"Fuck that. Stop talking so I don't have to throw up again, nigga." For the remainder of the distance to their destination, Sweet didn't say anything else to Augustus, and Augustus didn't speak either. "Hey brother, this where we climb up," Augustus announced when they reached a large sewer grate opening. He scaled the built-in ladder first, followed by Sweet, and pushed open the grate.

Sunlight struck Sweet across the face as soon as he ascended the ladder. He crawled up, closed his eyes, sprawled on the ground, and inhaled deeply of the thick, pungent aroma of pine trees in the afternoon sun. After a few minutes, Sweet opened his eyes and looked around. Augustus was a few feet away, stripping off his filthy prison jumpsuit and shoes to change clothes. "Come on. I got clothes for you too. And we gotta hurry."

Sweet started stripping off his jumpsuit down to his white boxers without another moment's hesitation. He kicked off his shoes and reached into the duffel bag Augustus pointed at. There was a white tank, plaid shirt, blue jeans, and red boots inside. Sweet changed into the clothes, even though his skin still reeked of the sewer. "Aye, nigga, so how we gettin' out this forest?"

Augustus pulled a Rockstar sweater over his head. He threw his jumpsuit and Sweet's jumpsuit into the black duffel bag, and headed deeper into the woods. Sweet noticed that the duffel bag remained behind. "Our ride is over here, brother. Come on."

They walked a short distance through the trees to a gray Huntley. Climbing in, Sweet could appreciate the luxurious interior with wood grain dashboard, warm leather seats, and clean carpets. "How long you been planning this shit?" Sweet asked.

Augustus climbed into the driver's seat. "Since I got locked up. Let's go."

* * *

**Author's Note: Thanks go out to the guest reviewer and to viciosodiego for following and favoriting this story.**** As with all my GTA stories, here is a brief explanation of references used in this chapter. **

**Fulcrum State Prison is an allusion to Folsom State Prison, made famous by the country singer Johnny Cash and brought to my attention by the biopic ****_Walk the Line._****Joaquin Phoenix deserved an Oscar for that role. Pimento is a parody of California's state capitol, Sacramento. "Jamaican gang from Liberty City" is a reference to the Yardies mentioned in ****_GTA III_****and ****_Liberty City Stories_****, and Augustus is a reference to King Courtney, the main Yardies character from those games. I didn't make it clear enough in the previous story, but that was always my intent. "Give up now or we'll be forced to annihilate you" is an allusion to the line that always came from the police helicopter in ****_GTA: San Andreas _****when CJ went on a long enough rampage. The scene of Sweet and Augustus crawling through the sewer tunnel is an allusion to one of my favorite movies, ****_The Shawshank Redemption_****, when Andy Dufresne crawled to his freedom. **


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